


Games We Play

by fluffernutter8



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Modern Era, Steggy Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffernutter8/pseuds/fluffernutter8
Summary: Steve and Peggy's new interest in their phones has the others confused and concerned.
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Avengers Team, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Avengers Team
Comments: 24
Kudos: 98





	Games We Play

Steve often sits up front to chat with Clint when he’s in the pilot’s seat. According to him, he used to do that during the war sometimes too, just shooting the breeze while being transported here or there. (Well, he actually said “shooting the shit,” which made Clint raise an eyebrow, but probably like him more than he thought he’d ever like someone who referred to “the war,” as if there’d only been one.)

It’s just the two of them today - unusual but they were the ones around - and yet Steve takes out his phone as they take off, fiddling around and muttering at it.

“You need me to drop you over the Apple Store on the way back?” Clint finally asks, trying to tease out what the issue is. He’s actually fine without a conversation, and Steve is pretty good at comfortable silence, but you take care of your teammates, notice when something’s different. Agent Carter might be around, understanding him in ways no one else can, but it can be good to get a new perspective.

“What?” Steve says, still distracted. “No, it’s fine.” He gives a final, triumphant tap to his screen, mutters, “How d’you like that?” and puts his phone into his pocket.

“Okay.” He leans back in his seat, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Now explain the appeal of NASCAR to me again.” So Clint does, and Steve still doesn’t get it, and Clint notices him continuing to check his phone the whole rest of the trip back.

* * *

“Morning, Aunt Peg!” Tony strides into her office as if Peggy’s assistant is a potted plant, and not even a particularly interesting one. Hugo is a bulldog with nearly everything, and had actually tendered his resignation in shame over his inability to stop Tony from doing what he wanted; Peggy told him that unfortunately this was a Stark feature that they would both have to simply learn to live with.

By which she means that Hugo can stand down and allow Tony entry without a fight - but that Peggy doesn’t have to give him a scrap of attention until she is ready to do so.

She doesn’t even glance up as he seats himself across from her, slapping a file folder against his palm. The gum he is chewing - actual bubble gum, like a child - is obvious from both the scent and the bubbles he blows to entertain himself as she continues to drag her finger across her tablet.

His patience, of course, runs out first. Doubtless he’d already been a little buzzy with energy if he’d decided to take a trip down with hard copy documents for her. “What are you doing there?” he asks, craning to see, but the glare from the window is too strong and a second later, she’s dropped the cover shut anyway and transferred her attention to her computer monitor.

“I think you’ve adapted too well to modern technology,” he tells her grumpily, watching the ease with which she switches between them. That actually makes her flick a laughing eyebrow upward.

“We use what we have and do what we must. I would certainly like to see you trying to get by in 1945.”

Tony shudders. “No bet. I’ve seen one of my dad’s old soldering irons from back then. Thick as a pipe. Totally without finesse.”

“Howard did manage quite a bit without your fancy tools, but there’s no shame if you couldn’t,” she says innocently, attention entirely focused on clicking something as he sputters in front of her. Typing a few final words, she finally turns toward him fully. “Now what was it you needed, or were you merely finding it dull in your workshop despite your precision soldering irons?”

“I’m starting to remember why I always regret coming down here,” he mutters, but flips the folder onto her desk anyway. “Just need your John Hancock by the arrows. Or Jane Hancock, I guess.”

She picks up the file, starting to page through it as she remarks over the top, “Oh, are we going to waste some perfectly good tea by tossing it into the harbor?”

“I think your Lipton is safe.”

“As if I would ever,” she says sternly, marking a large X across a paragraph she doesn’t like, turning the page and doing it again. Once she’s finished with the whole document, she drops it back onto the desk so it slides toward him.

“You must have known I wouldn’t sign that.”

“Worth a try,” he shrugs.

“Well, try again and see if it’s worth your while,” she says, just as her tablet makes a soft, insistent ding.

“Need to get that?” Tony asks, leaning shamelessly forward as she flicks the cover open.

She spins her chair, saying archly, “I do, actually. I assume you can find your way out?”

“Naughty pics from Cap, huh?”

“Yes, which leaves me to wonder why you’re so eager to catch a glimpse.”

“He’s a handsome man,” Tony says, seemingly unbothered, but when Peggy replies, “He _certainly_ is,” he makes a retching sound and stands to leave.

“Bothered by a woman enjoying her sexual prime, are we?” she asks, and he beats his way out of her office, passing Hugo at a near-jog.

She chuckles quietly and applies herself back to the task at hand.

* * *

“I don’t think it has an easy answer,” Bruce says, “and we’ll probably be dealing with it for a long time yet.”

“It’s probably a good first step that it’s being taken on at all. Back—” Steve stops himself, takes a sip of his drink; he tends toward coffee on the whole, but when they meet up he usually joins Bruce in his search for the best chai in the city.

“You were going to say, “back in my day…” weren’t you?” Banner teases, gently delighted. “It’s okay, you still can. I won’t tell.”

Steve shakes his head. “Tony probably has some kind of radar for it.” He moves off the curb to let a couple pushing a baby carriage go by, then steps back up to walk the last block to the tower beside Bruce.

“How’s the latest alloy coming?” Steve asks, tossing his cup into the garbage by the reception desk. Bruce groans, even though it’s nice to have someone actually remember what project he’s working on.

“We’re getting close, but the fine tuning is a killer.” The elevator arrives and people start flowing out into the lobby. “What are you up to for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Not much,” Steve starts, but then puts his hand in his pocket, distracted by the vibration from his phone. “I’m just—I have to—”

“Are you coming?” Bruce asks, after he’s been holding the door of the empty elevator for a solid minute and Steve, engaged with the device, doesn’t even seem to have noticed. Bruce wonders if he’s read the research about changing brains based on screen use.

Steve waves a hand, attention still on the screen. “I’ll take the next one.”

“Same time next week for book club?” Bruce calls as the doors close.

“Yeah.” Steve actually looks up at him for a second, that familiar grin on his face. “This’ll all be finished by then.”

Bruce returns to his lab with the definite feeling that he doesn’t want to know exactly will be finished.

* * *

“There really aren’t any beaches like the ones over there. I’ve only ever been while I was working, and I still managed to have a good time,” Natasha says, finishing the last of her steak.

“We are planning a vacation,” Peggy says thoughtfully. “The middle of April, as long as no world-ending danger pops up between now and then.”

Nat smiles. “We’ll try to keep it to a minimum. Although you could always slip out before things get really bad and just forget to have your phones on.”

“Steve would never stand for it,” Peggy says, which is true, but they both know that Peggy herself wouldn’t either.

“Is everything…” Natasha hesitates. Uncharacteristic, maybe, but she still isn’t entirely used to the rules of having friends. “Are you and Steve okay? Because I’ve been picking up a little...something lately.”

“What? Oh, yes, everything’s fine.” Peggy takes a little sip of iced tea through her straw. “I have no idea what you might have detected.” And if Nat wouldn’t have said it with equal complete casualness, she might have believed her.

“Are you sure? Because--”

Peggy’s phone buzzes inside her purse on the table. She takes it out, pursing her lips as she looks at the screen.

“You’ve been on your phone a lot lately,” Nat says slowly.

With a laugh, Peggy taps one last time and slides her phone away. “Isn’t everyone these days? Terrible habit, but I’m sure I’ll break myself of it one day soon.” She picks up the dessert menu. “Now, what’s for pudding?”

Natasha orders the most deeply chocolatey thing on the menu; she figures she deserves it with whatever’s going on.

* * *

“A strong bout,” Thor says, clapping Steve approvingly on the shoulder.

Steve walks over to the bench at the side of the gym where they left their stuff. “You too, even if the whole ‘mythical god who can call down storms’ bit tilts things a little in your favor.”

“Your little disc stands up well to them!” Thor assures him earnestly, tapping the shield as Steve sets it down and picks up his phone. “But perhaps I can make it up to you.”

“Depends,” Steve says with a frown, taking in whatever is on the screen, “on whether you know anything about the game Scrabble and what to do with these letters.”

Thor leans over to look. “You use the letters to make words which intersect, I understand.” His eyes roam over the board and then he says tentatively, “Are there not gherkins on Midgard?”

“Huh?”

“Gherkins?” Thor forms a little shape with his large fingers in demonstration. “Small pickled cucumbers?”

A smile grows over Steve’s face. “You’re a genius,” he says, manipulating something on the screen. “A genius at storms _and_ at Scrabble.”

“Well,” says Thor, clearly pleased but trying to be fair, “perhaps only very good at Scrabble.”

* * *

“You know what was really great? When you put down kinkajou,’” Steve says around the toothbrush in his mouth. He spits. “I had wanted to use that N but it was worth it.”

“It was,” says a satisfied Peggy from where she’s changing into her pajamas. “And I’d like to know where exactly you pulled ‘bezique’ from.”

“Churchill loved it. He tried to get me to play a time or two. I was just lucky the B was already on the board.” Flipping off the bathroom light, he comes over to the bed and pulls the covers aside for himself.

Between their combined salaries - well, after Peggy found out that Steve was still getting the baseline amount agreed to after he’d woken up and had negotiated an appropriate raise on his behalf - they’ve been able to afford not only a bed that they can sprawl in, but a bedroom that their new mattress can fit into. Lying down in it might be Steve’s favorite part of the day.

“Did you realize we’d been worrying everyone this week? They all think something awful has been happening or that we’re breaking up.” He stretches, shoving the extra pillow to her side (he can’t sleep with more than one).

Peggy snorts. “Amateurs. They should just be lucky that they didn’t see us after the poker championship back in—What was it, ‘44?”

“Just before - December of ‘43. I didn’t think I’d make it to New Year’s,” he recalls fondly as she climbs into bed and snuggles into him.

“I’d never have let that happen. You’re smart, moderately talented, and you play to win; it would be a shame for that to go to waste.”

He kisses her. “Good to know where I stand, I guess.” He kisses her again. “Maybe we’ll tone things down a bit but how about a new game tomorrow?” He kisses her a gentle third time.

“We’ve played every day since we discovered the application,” she points out. “Why should tomorrow be any different?” She kisses him this time, pressing him back into the pillow until he forgets all about competition or vocabulary or any of it.

* * *

(Eight and a half months later, she types “magnetizes” triumphantly into her phone - and on a triple word score too - as they wheel her up to the maternity floor. They don’t tell anyone else about that part.)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 3 of Steggy Week 2020. Prompt: Modern Day.
> 
> I didn't specify exactly what AU this is which has Peggy in the future, so this can probably be read as part of the same verse as [Stitch Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138972), or possibly [Burdens Had.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7068784)


End file.
